


The Golden Ones

by werpiper



Series: in the icing: Layers side stories [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Brotherhood, Dwarf Gender Concepts, F/M, Genderfuck, Genital Piercing, Healing, Multi, Nonbinary Dwarves, Other, Shield-brothers, Stone Sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3662418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werpiper/pseuds/werpiper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>side to Layers: what happened to the dwarves left in Lake-town.  This will be a multi-chapter side story, as I want to talk about a number of things happen to a number of different people.  Perspectives will vary deeply.  The main line of the story will go on with Dwalin, hopefully not terribly impeded by all of this :)</p><p>chapter 1 is Fili POV, local rating G, personal history and stone-sense.</p><p>chapter 2 is Gloin POV, local rating M, values</p><p>chapter 3 is Fili POV, local rating E, sex, distraction, ornamentation and rememberances</p><p>chapter 4 is Gimli POV, local rating G, after the end of the Quest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This starts at Layers chapter 73 and is looking in another direction from any other canon or continuity :)

His first memory was of his brother: just born, screaming as all new-born dwarves have screamed, seeing their Maker wield their doom upon them. But there was nothing in the voice of fear, only outrage and defiance and determination. With the rest of their family he answered the new one: _You're alive. You're strong. We're here for you, littlest one, newest love. We welcome you. Please stay with us._

He doesn't remember if he knew how to talk yet. His vision was still not reliable; like all dwarflings he knew his world through other senses: touch and the tastes in his mouth. His brother was warm, wet, salty, solid. He was made of layers and textures, always moving, blending into and separating out of one another, depending on his feelings and his needs. Kili's happiness was a glow, and the whole family basked in that generous warmth. Its shine was always prettier than any jewel or bauble, though it took Fili some time to learn the difference between his brother and a stone not forged to life; he was only tiny himself. Their nurses passed them around as a unit because they clung to each other awake or asleep. "Bare is back without brother," said Dis, well pleased, to them and to Thorin equally. Fili liked the sound of that and repeated it, even when it was only sounds to him, which amused the family no end. When he learned what the words mean, it made perfect sense.

Which is why, as they stood together in a Man-sized room in a damp Lake-house full of old armor and half-tailored clothing, Fili could not make sense of the words from Thorin's mouth. They couldn't leave Kili. His light had gone grey instead of gold since the orc-shot, his strong lines broken and streaked. He belonged in Erebor; all their lives they were told they belonged to Erebor, and there it was big as life across the water. Didn't they sing to him, _here for you_? Fili had never doubted his uncle before, but he felt the stone snap between them then, and a molten line of gold pulling apart and breaking like taffy. Aloud he said "I belong with my brother" and went to find him. A spark like passed between them like flint striking steel and Fili followed it, eyes blind with tears. Kili was with Sigrid the healer, and there was nothing else like him in the world. Without looking, he stumbled out the door, across wooden plankways over the water, up a splintering stair, until they were together again.

Kili's arms were bare and his shirt open, and Fili took his hand and scribed _here for you_ in their secret talk of touch. Not quite Iglishmek, this was smaller and private and might have been Fili's first language. It certainly had been Kili's, and sharp-calloused fingers scribed back _good_. Kili's eyes were closed, and sweat matted his hair. Fili combed it back from his face, felt the slide and shift in Kili: no cleaner or brighter, but a little more comfortable.

Behind him he heard voices: Oin first in reasonable tones, then a woman of Men, then Gloin grumbling as always and clanking out coins from his purse. The minted gold slid away, separating from Gloin's own coin-chiseled self and into anonymity. There was always a little pain to that, and Fili signed to him _Thank you, cousin._ Gloin huffed, then came to stand by Fili's side. "How's he doing, lad?"

"Better for our presence," said Fili diplomatically. Oin was waiting for more, and Fili signed _Dimmer than this morning._ He made himself look away from Kili, take in their surroundings, watch for anything their healer might sign. The room was much more like a boat than the house where the Company had stayed, wooden walls packed with pitch rather than plastered. Everything was still too large, Man-sized, and Kili lay on a kitchen table, still as a side of beef.

 _Less stable,_ Oin signed. _His keystone's crumbling._ This was healer-talk, and Fili could never much follow it, and even Oin would not speak thus with even a healer Man. "Master Sigrid," he said instead, "have you given him feverfew?"

She said she had, and they were off about tinctures and tisanes. Fili closed his eyes again. The earth felt disconcertingly far away beneath the water. He tried to think of Kili as an arch; he tried to push himself beneath for support. Someone brought him what might have been a tisane and he drank it, then someone tried to give him an apple and he managed to turn it away. The rest of them talked, and Gloin went out, more coins slipping away. When the orcs burst in he fought, mechanical and distracted and still brutally efficient at it -- the only trouble came when the table tipped, and he had to throw his body under Kili along with his soul. At least he could tell he was effective; he rolled his brother's pained but unresisting body towards the wall with no feeling of further damage. Oin was fighting too, and the Men as well, even the children screaming and throwing furniture. Then the elves came, and the battle ended as abruptly as it had begun. Gloin returned -- the orcs had waylaid him, though he had prevailed until their survivors fled -- and he and the Men put the furniture back to rights. Fili helped Oin settle Kili back, elevating the wounded leg at a different angle now, on folded towels.

The Man changed the compress for a clean one, soaked with some different oil, and Fili helped his brother to hold still for it. Meanwhile the elves were arguing in their own language, until one suddenly said in clear Westron: "I am going to save him."

She -- Tauriel their rescuer, captor, prison-guard; a reflected light in Kili's own luminance -- moved into Fili's space as if he were not there, her hands tearing at some silvery-green plant, her voice rising into a chant. Kili's soul glowed beneath her touch, her voice, the essence from the leaves. The streaks of light and dark, of Oin murmured in praise, and Gloin drew Fili away. He let himself be moved, suddenly sick and exhausted, a knife-scrape irritating the back of his hand. But he felt Kili's striations evening out, moving smoothly again, even as they shifted into new patterns -- star-shapes where bright lines crossed over themselves. The elf's voice dropped as she sang on, repeating the same sounds; Fili realized she sounded tired too. Still she tended his brother as carefully and continuously as someone trying to light a fire in wet wood. Fili struck a spark to Kili, and the light caught, until slow and sure as sunrise Kili shone. 

The elf was silent now, and Oin said something stupid. Fili just basked until Kili started to speak. His voice was thin and warm, and he said, "Tauriel...."

"Rest," said the elf, as curtly as any other healer.

Kili paused, then spoke as formally as any scholar or poet. "You cannot be her. She is far....she is far, far away from me...."

Fili stared, shocked to his core to hear such words in Westron. Kili went on, gleaming brighter than he ever had before in his life. Fili stood up and tried to leave quietly, to give his brother some space for once in their lives. Gloin came after him, grumbling like someone trying to gather up spilled coins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fili's version of the stone-sense is a new one on me, and Oin's yet another. I hope the inconsistencies appeal more than distract; I think of them as extremely subjective and idiosyncratic, for dwarves who have them at all.
> 
> Also, "twin talk" -- private language -- is not uncommon for kids raised very closely; I think I had some of it with my own brother, who's just a couple years older than I am. In its most extreme manifestation, amazing things happen like Nicaraguan Sign Language -- if you enjoy linguistic matters I recommend looking that up.
> 
> In my head, Kili knows that Tauriel is actually there, or at least that he thinks she is. The "You cannot be her..." element is some kind of formal measure that allows one to speak poetically, or perhaps just more freely than usual.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Value is a slippery concept.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING for gender essentialism of a sort, spoken out of ignorance incidental to the 100% imaginary gender constructs in these fics. Please don't blame Gloin harshly; the natures of other Free Peoples are not his strong suit.

There are things that are valuable, even indispensable, in context -- water, ale, and meat; weaponry and furs; roofing-tiles and chairs. Other things hold their value not in their usefulness, but in themselves -- joy and courage; gold and emeralds; oxygen and flame. And then there are _selves_ : living people, allies and family and friends, and such values can never be measured or compared.

Gloin rarely spoke of such philosophies, except sometimes to Gimli; a habit left over from when his son was too small to ask questions. Certainly not in Thorin's Company -- they already had enough to bicker about -- but he explained himself to himself in those terms as he followed his prince out into the damp night. You didn't let your family, let alone your liege, walk through a Man town alone and sorrow-blind. He threw an arm around Fili's shoulders and guided him towards the city's guest-house on its pier. The lad lurched like a drunkard. Gloin hoped the building would still be empty, but more that the kitchens would not have been cleared.

He was lucky on the first, at least, and slipped the lock with ease. The lamp inside the door was still half-full of oil. Fili's face flared like a sunrise in the light, golden hair wild, tears and sweat and orc-blood like tattered clouds across his face. "Bath for you," said Gloin, as briskly as he ever had to Gimli, "and something to eat." Fili nodded mutely (nothing like his son). The pilot-light had gone out on the water heater, and Gloin relit it. "Won't take a moment," he said, and went to look in the kitchen.

The room still smelled like Dori's baking, and Gloin's stomach rumbled. He found a tray, filled it with cheese and sausage and black bread and a bottle of Eastern wine. Unsatisfied, he kept rummaging until he came across a jar of blackberry jam and a pack of dried quince suckets. Fili had always liked sweets.

The prince was exactly where Gloin had left him. Gloin set the tub to fill, then turned to undress Fili. His shirt was clearly new-made, not even fully stitched from the basting, and would have been fine stuff if not for the orc blood. Gloin filled a bucket with cold water and set it to soak. Fili's trousers were the tattered ones from Mirkwood's prison, and his smalls no better. Those, he decided, should be burned, but when he took them to feed the fire, Fili's strong hand closed around his wrist. "Please don't," said Fili, taking the ragged cloth back. "That came from home."

Gloin's eyes pricked with tears, whether because Fili's _home_ meant Thorin's Halls and not Erebor, or because the stained and shredded cloth wasn't fit for a beggar, he could not have said. "All right," he said, louder than he meant to, and went to fill another wash-bucket. "In you go," he added, but Fili's mind had wandered again; his eyes were down and he did not move. Gloin sighed, stripped himself and climbed into the bath, pulling Fili along.

The lad had scarcely a score of years on his Gimli, but his body was not a child's. His pelt caught water-drops and made them gleam gold, far thicker than his beard would have led Gloin to imagine. Of course he knew Fili cut his hair like Thorin, but Kili still didn't have to, and despite the braids that framed his mouth it made Fili's face look young. But his scars would have been creditable on a warrior with twice his years, and there was a fresh wound on the back of one hand. Fili looked away as Gloin cleaned it. When that painful procedure was over (and why hadn't Oin done anything, Gloin fumed internally, wasn't he supposed to be the healer?) he pulled Fili close. The lad was cleaner and warmer now, at least. Gloin hugged him, then turned them so he could untangle Fili's hair.

Fili's hair, Gloin thought, had value of several kinds. It was the direct work of the Dwarfmaker himself. Its color and curls reminded one of gold and its ductile nature. The raw-silk texture was a pleasure on Gloin's skin, and Fili's small sigh when a mat came free another pleasure to hear. "Good, that," said Gloin. "Always clean up after a fight. You'll feel better when you've done." Fili murmured, not quite words, and encouraged, Gloin went on. "After battle, before love, and whenever you can on the road, as my wife would say. It's a proverb in the House of Li --"

"Farli bore me," Fili interrupted, "then Dis bore Kili. I'd be House of Li if I weren't Thorin's heir, but Kili's Durin's son twice over --" and suddenly he was crying. His body clenched, doubling forwards, and It took all Gloin's strength to hold him.

"There, there," he murmured, or tried to -- Fili's knee hit him in the ribs and knocked out most of his breath. "It's all right, Fili, calm down, be quiet now. Do you miss your mother?"

The sobbing stopped with one long hard breath, then one hard bark of laughter. Fili half sat up, pushing Gloin away, but Gloin hung on. He was both taller and stouter, and after a moment, Fili let him, though his tension had returned. "Of course I do," said Fili, "don't you miss yours?"

"Yes," said Gloin slowly, thinking of her in her workshop in Ered Luin, the spoke lathe and hub tools and truing stands. Perhaps that was home of a sort after all. Tentatively, he combed his fingers through Fili's hair again. "But I'm not the one crying. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong." He did sound like Gimli then, and Gloin laughed, trying to keep his voice gentle.

"Nothing's wrong and you're not crying. All right."

It took a minute, but it worked. Fili laughed, more ruefully than anything. "Kili's fine," he said. "He really is. He was _dying_ and now he's not, he's stronger than ever, he's glowing like a forge. And Tauriel. If she were a dwarf I'd say he'd kindled her. It's not, it's not _wrong _, it's --"__

Gloin could scarcely believe what he'd heard. "WHAT?!" he bellowed back, in tones he'd learned from yelling at his own brother, and Fili flinched. "Of course it's wrong," he said, trying to lower his voice. "She's an elf. That isn't even possible. Elves don't kindle, they're like Men. Only dams or sires and you can tell from when they're born." Or so he'd always heard, anyway. "And she's an _elf_." The thought of anyone even kissing an elf with sexual intent seemed utterly perverse, its bald face far too like a child's. Not that Kili's beard amounted to much, but that did not help the image.

"I knew that," said Fili. He regarded Gloin narrowly, then added "But I know what it's like when dwarves kindle. I was at your wedding," he added, and Gloin flushed. He knew that Fili had the gift of kings, and that might certainly give him unexpected insights, but this was uncomfortably personal.

"You were a little child then yourself," he said, trying to keep his tone light.

"I was twenty," said Fili, not precisely arguing, "and it was beautiful. The first wedding I ever attended." He sighed, took the soap, and began to wash with the abstract efficiency of someone used to doing so in icy streams on irregular occasions. Gloin decided to accept the compliment, and then that he did not want to think about its implications. If Fili said his brother was well, Gloin believed him. He had enough to do caring for Fili just now.

He stood up and wrung out his beard, then climbed from the tub and considered their clothes. His own were all right; the orc hadn't touched him, and its corpse fallen backwards into the water. But Fili's shirt still would not scrub clean. After a minute he changed the dirty water for fresh, hung the sad smallclothes by the water-heater to dry, and went to the house's stash of dressing-gowns. They were all too long and most too narrow to fit either of them, but he selected two that seemed voluminous, and towels besides. "Come on when you're ready," he said. "We'll eat."

Fili splashed, then opened the drain and climbed out. He was standing well enough now, straight and strong, pelt gleaming in the lamplight where the water beaded. Gloin handed him a towel and admired him as he used it; it was both the work and the reward of dwarves to appreciate valuable things. And, of course, to maintain and improve them -- he held out the robe after (it was a poor fit but a good cloth, well-dyed) and led the way out with the lamp and the tray.

The living room would not do, after the scene with Thorin, and the kitchen table and chairs were uncomfortably high. Gloin led the way to the room he and Oin had shared. The space still smelled comfortingly like his brother's preparations -- Oin had been busy throughout their stay, and Gloin had fetched and carried and run out to shops for him as they had a hundred years ago -- and indeed the low table was still a mess of raw ingredients and leftovers and trials his brother had not deemed worthy to pack. Gloin hummed with pleasure when he found the candied ginger. It had come out too sweet to settle the stomach, according to the healer, but Gloin loved the taste. He pulled off a chunk, turned to offer it to Fili.

The lad's eyes had gone distant again, and the rest of his face looked like somebody eavesdropping on a conversation they would rather not have overheard. "Fili," said Gloin, holding out the treat, then louder, "Hey?" He shook his head slightly, but paid no further mind. Gloin reached out and tugged one of the prince's braids. "Hey!" Fili's eyes snapped blue, sparking at him like gas-flames, and his hand snapped closed around Gloin's wrist again. Gloin took advantage; rather than pulling away, he pressed the ginger candy against Fili's mouth. "Open up," he ordered. "Eat."

Fili opened his mouth obediently enough, then his eyes opened wider as he chewed, finally seeming to focus at the sharp and the sweet. Oin's remedies always worked, thought Gloin. Before Fili could become lost again, Gloin had a chunk of black bread at the ready, and he uncorked the wine while Fili ate that. But bread was not a remedy, and Fili set it aside half-eaten. "I'm not hungry," he protested when Gloin made an inquiring sound. "Is there something here... that could just make me sleep?"

There probably was, Gloin thought, but he had neither the expertise nor the will to administer it. "You'll sleep when you're tired," he said firmly. "Finish the bread and I'll give you something nice." Fili's eyes closed and he sighed, a sad sound, but he obediently took another bite and chewed. Gloin poured the wine, opened the jam, and settled down beside his prince. "Tell me what you're thinking," he added. That helped soldiers after too much blood in battle, and Fili did look a little like someone losing a war.

"That he loves her," Fili whispered, "and he isn't even thinking about me."

Gloin cuffed him, which at least made Fili's eyes focus. "Good," he said forcefully, and Fili's eyes opened wider. "Now, you stop thinking about him. Leave each other alone for a bit. Pay attention to me, for Mahal's sake. I'm right here and I'm talking to you."

"I'm here too," snapped Fili, "I'm _trying_...."

"Try harder," said Gloin. Fili glared, then leaned over and kissed him, pushing in with tongue and teeth.

If Gloin's first reaction was to gasp, at least his second was to put a hand behind Fili's neck, securing him in place. Thus constrained, Fili's attempt to draw back pulled Gloin on top. This was unexpected, but not at all objectionable. Gloin kissed back, tugged at the corner of Fili's braided mustache with his teeth, and felt rewarded by the blue eyes' slow, spiraling dilation. He ran a hand up the front of Fili's robe, pushed his fingers into the thick, short-cropped beard. It took a moment, but soon Fili's hands were deep in Gloin's beard as well, groping and tugging until Gloin groaned. "Is this all right?" asked Fili, and Gloin tightened his grip.

"Better than blackberry jam," he said, lowering his mouth to Fili's bare throat. Fili's fingers worked as Gloin sucked there, encouraging him until he bit; then Fili shivered all over. "Too much?"

"No... yes? No. Gloin," as the older dwarf drew back and their eyes met again, "I... have a brother, and you have a wife. I never thought..." He trailed off again, eyes still blown, lips slightly parted over even white teeth.

"You often don't," said Gloin, trying to keep his words kind with his tone. He kissed Fili's cheek, then met his eyes again. "Fili. I would be your shield-brother, if you'll have me?"

Fili blushed, starting in his cheeks and spreading as Gloin watched, out to his ears and down past his collarbone. "Yes. Gloin. Of course. I just, I never... I've never touched anyone except --"

"I don't care," Gloin interrupted gently. He pushed Fili's hair back, admired the suck-mark rising on his skin. "Do you want to touch me now? Will you swear to me your sword and all your pretty knives?"

"I don't have -- oh Mahal I left them --"

"Not all of them," said Gloin, "there's still one in each boot, and at least two in your shirt and one in your trousers. They'll find the rest when they clean up after the orcs," he added. Fili blushed harder, and Gloin kissed him again.

"All right," Fili said, when they paused for breath. "I swear to you, Gloin son of Groin, by my weapons and by my empty hands. May they turn against me before I forsake you," whispering the last into Gloin's beard, where those hands clutched and trembled.

Gloin felt his heart expanding at the words, filling with the gift he was given, valuable beyond gold. "And I swear to you, Fili heir of Thorin Oakenshield, by my axe and my body and all of my coin. I will be your shield-brother and your ally, to protect you and to please you. Kiss me again," he added, and Fili did, and there was nothing more valuable in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gloin is a better (if slower) lock-pick than Nori, having learned in the more advanced technology of Erebor. He doesn't care as much; for him it's a trick to amuse children or work around a lost key, not a matter of survival. But it comes in handy now and then, so he keeps in practice.
> 
> Since Dis bore Kili, she is considered a dwarrowdam ("dam" meaning in general "mother", in English) and entitled to female syntactic gender. So is Farli, whose name I believe I have stolen from the revered Thorinsmut. In Khuzdul this works out more or less like an honorific; in Westron it's not as obvious, but dwarves will still use it about other dwarves who have borne children. (Here I follow JRRT's canon convention of translating Westron as a fairly plain English, modulo that his English was many decades older and many thousands of miles away from mine; I hope we are at least mutually intelligible :)
> 
> In my head, the terminal syllable of a dwarf's name usually designates which of the original dwarves Mahal created began their bearing line. Sons of Durin rarely bear (Durin himself could not; this is a gloss from various sources about the odd number of KIngs and/or wives), though, so their names (including here Gloin, Dwalin, and Thorin) use his suffix -in showing that they are descended from the King of Kings. Kili's name is an odd case, but the choice to name brothers together apparently takes even further precedent. (Gloin's mother, incidentally, is a wheelwright.)
> 
> Apparently the rule that everyone gets laid in Lake-town continues to apply.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS for this chapter:  
> Explicit sex between adults of substantial age difference  
> Vague reference to sex between people who regard it as essentially masturbatory, but a reader might reasonably regard as incestuous  
> Genital ornamentation  
> Genital piercing, pain
> 
> Don't try ANY this at home, dear readers. I made it up, and you are not quite the people I had in mind :)
> 
> (well, i probably mean except for the sex. go to town with the sex, if that's your cuppa tea ;)

Dis called them sunshine and moonlight, while Farli said lightning and thunder. When Thorin was pleased with them, they were gold and silver-steel; when he wasn't, they were trouble and consequences. Fili and Kili didn't use special words for each other themselves. They hardly even said "me" and "you", and "brother" was for other people's ears. Together they had always been "us". Being alone was almost alien. Being with Gloin was a revelation.

He was not unfamiliar, still weighty and musical as golden coins. But he was also stone molten with heat: dark red, slow-going, half-hidden as it burned beneath its own shadow. Fili had meant the kiss to shut Gloin's mouth -- that worked well enough on Kili -- but there had been words instead, and Fili was not the least in control of the way the conversation went. He was not the older nor the stronger, and though he might be the prince he was nothing like the leader. Once they had sworn, there were very few words at all.

Gloin lay over him, protective as a mountain. His great beard was still damp and unbound from the bath, and Fili found himself clutching at it, hands wrapping into the unfamiliar texture. Gloin chuckled low, pushing Fili's dressing-robe aside to let his hair fall onto Fili's bare shoulders. The coarse hair made a tickling caress and Fili shivered, while Gloin laughed again. Then Gloin's mouth followed, a slow hard suck at the base of Fili's neck, and Fili's fingers clenched. His hips bucked up, embarrassingly eager, though Gloin made no complaint. He hummed against Fili's skin without removing his mouth, and dropped his hand to untie their robes so that they lay skin to skin. It was a little comforting to Fili that Gloin was as hard as himself, though he wasn't rutting or trembling with it. Fili was, overwhelmed by the heat and weight upon him, and the heavy, ornamented cock that lay hot against his own. He tried to control himself by feeling out the jewels and naming them: white jade, cabochon emerald, malachite. Linked loops of black steel and rose gold. This might have calmed his mind, but his own metaphorical stones grew hotter and heavier with each discovery. His cock was leaking against Gloin's, and when the older dwarf pulled back, a clear thread of liquid joined them. "Beautiful," Gloin whispered, "ghivashê," and the possessive word and tone drove Fili to a paroxysm of thrusting again. Gloin wrapped a calloused hand around him, tugging the soft skin over the hard shaft. "Come for me now," he added, and helplessly Fili did. The spending went through him like molten stone spilling from the earth, leaving him weightless and warm.

Gloin's hand loosened a little but did not release him. Gloin's weight pinned him through a few minutes of wriggling oversensitivity, which ironically meant got Fili hard again, as if his body were filled by the implacable flow of molten rock. Gloin's groan when Fili bit him made him wild. He'd lost control embarrassingly quickly, but he had no need of shame -- he'd pull worse out of Gloin. He would try, and Fili was nothing if not a determined dwarf. He bit harder, then hooked a knee behind Gloin's and a hand into that heavy beard and shoved.

The groan changed into a grunt of surprise before Fili was halfway on top. He couldn't tell if the older dwarf's resistance was token or not -- Gloin wasn't Dwalin, let alone Balin, and Fili was used to being smaller. He pinned Gloin at the hips and throat and one wrist, quite liking the way his struggles dragged the jeweled cock here and there beneath him. "Want me to come for you again?" Fili asked. He intended it to sound casual or possibly even mocking, but it came out a growl. Gloin growled back, his throat rattling with it in Fili's grip. Their eyes locked -- how had Fili never noticed Gloin's eyes, not Durin-blue but dark as Kili's, glinting in their depth with low embers. "Want me to come inside you?" and his voice sounded strange to himself, growling and begging together, wanting and needing to be wanted.

Gloin raised his free hand slowly -- given the pin, that was safest -- to stroke Fili's cheek, trace his jawline through the clipped beard. "Please, my prince, my golden one," Gloin said, and the rough, entreating voice filled Fili like a balm. He moved back from the pin, letting Gloin gasp a few deeper breaths. "Please... let me find..." Gloin sat up, putting an arm around Fili's bare shoulders, and pulled him along to the remains of Oin's workbench. "It won't be his best," Gloin muttered darkly, sorting and sniffing his way through the abandoned pharmacopeia. Fili stood silent, senses overfilled with the many sharp scents and the warmth of the dwarf beside him. Mahal's apron was creeping downwards. He was considering suggesting alternatives -- he could suck Gloin off, or perhaps they might just sleep -- when Gloin scooped up a half-filled kitchen cup. "It'll do," he said, and dragged Fili back to bed. Mahal's apron retreated.

Gloin dipped his fingers in the cup, then set to touching himself. The slick, or whatever it was, made Gloin's jewelry shine and Fili's mouth water. He wondered if it meant Gloin wanted to be inside him instead (all those beautiful jewels, their solid curves and edges). But those dark-ember eyes were watching him, and Gloin laughed. He found a pillow and propped it beneath his own low back, then put his hands in the cup again, and set strong, gold-ringed fingers to opening himself. Fili swallowed hard, and Gloin's laughter gentled to the softest smile as he beckoned Fili in.

He thought he knew how to do this, fingers first, then inch by delicate inch -- but he did not know Gloin, who wrapped his legs around Fili's waist and cried wordlessly, urging him like a pony to run. Fili found the pace, quick and hard and powerful. Gloin moved beneath him, hands reaching up to run through Fili's pelt, stroke over his paps, tug on the braids beside his mouth. Fili leaned forward, dropping like a pony into a gallop, breath panting from him. He took the jeweled cock in one hand, feeling the roiling hot stone beneath, put out a spark to heat it further. Gloin cried out again and Fili might have laughed for joy of it. But he was too hot himself, bellowing like a forge for air. He shot off like a rocket and felt Gloin spilling into his hand, the pleasure of it doubling, chiming through him in waves that shook his belly and clamped his limbs and teeth. Then strong hands went from Fili's hips into his hair, and he was pulled down to lie upon his shield-brother, surrounded by the thick beard, held close to hear Gloin's pounding heart.

Fili had never cared about beards or hair very much. His family cut theirs, leaders shorn in exile and shame, though he loved Kili's silky tangles and took pride in his own well-kept braids. But Gloin's hair wrapped him like an embrace, and somehow made him feel protected without making him feel childish. As he lay still and sated, his mind reached out of habit for Kili. The arc leapt between them, unique and unmistakeable. Kili was changed -- stellated where he had always been linear; hotter than ever before, crackling with something like a new-lit fire. But most importantly he shone bright, and Fili found himself reveling in Kili's joy, as happy as he had ever been in his brother's embrace. Then his own reflection struck him back: he had always been _golden_ to Kili, but now he was _gilded_ as well. Strange, and he wondered what Kili might make of it. He kept the spark going, struggling to learn it, to value it. Gloin's arm tightened around Fili's chest, and he murmured again, "Ghivashê." Thus held and touched, Fili would have let himself fall asleep, but Gloin spoke again, more loudly. "Fili. Shield-brother. Stay with me."

"I'm not going anywhere," Fili whispered, but he felt the half-lie of it. He turned over, letting the arc to Kili die out. Gloin's eyes were keen upon him, watch-fires late at night.

Gloin did not argue. "Would you have another gift from me?" he asked. "It will hurt," he said, voice husky, "but it won't fade, and you won't forget."

Fili swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the small room and how he was not alone there. He understood the implication, though it was outside his experience; he had only just been holding the evidence in his hands. He wiped them clean of slick and spunk on the sheets -- they smelled of Gloin already, then nodded firmly. "I would accept and be honored," he said formally, though he was a little scared.

Gloin nodded and didn't ask further. He rose from the bed and went to the table, returning with two dishes and a handful of cloths. Fili heard a knife being whetted, a purse shaken out. "Blue for your eyes and a star for Durin," said Gloin. "I knew I brought this one for good reason." He approached the bed again, dipped a cloth to wipe Fili's sweaty face and chest and clean his hands. "You have to want this," he said, "and you have to want me doing it, or Mahal himself will protect you." He knelt between Fili's legs, and Mahal's apron rolled back again.

Fili's cock was not quite hard now, but fully exposed. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then looked down hard at Gloin. "Do it," he said, "please," and first there was the warm, wet caress of the cloth, then the sharp pain of the knife. Fili screamed, fingers and toes clamping hard into the bed, but he did not move, nor Mahal's apron descend. The stellated sapphire slipped in, staunching the flow of blood. Fili felt his body accommodate to it, accept it, take it as his honor and his due: a new part of himself. It was a little sore, but as his recent wounds went, it was by far the sweetest. His eyes were wet, but he smiled.

"Ghivash ai-mênu," murmured Gloin. He wiped the blade clean and set it aside, then climbed around to hold Fili from behind. Fili reached for his beard, tugging it over his shoulders like a cloak.

"Men ai-mênu," said Fili, and his fingers laced into Gloin's beard, and he fell quietly asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -ê is, as i understand it, the simple possessive as a suffix in khuzdul, like hebrew "-i" or english "my []".
> 
> "ghivash" is i think a root word meaning "treasure"; "ai-mênu" rather famously means "upon you". "men", oddly enough, is khuzdul for the first-person pronoun "i" -- i take it that "Men" in english is something else entirely in Westron, so there isn't a pun really except in semi-translated contexts such as here.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in memory of the heir of erebor.

When Gimli came to the Lonely Mountain, his father was the richest lord in the realm. Gloin had always had a way with valuables -- both in understanding what was treasure and what could go cheap, and how to best invest and improve a fortune. In Ered Luin this had been a relatively modest enterprise, fronting materials for buildings and collecting the interest in rent, apprentices' gear loaned in advance for masterworks. But Erebor was rebuilding the old city of Dale, loaning great machinery and quarried stone, and Men streamed in and out of Gloin's office endlessly. They paid in gold and silver, woodworks, cattle, grain, and fish; they traded silks and spices and wines from distant lands. They clasped the banker's hands and praised his generosity, and Gimli, who had never thought he wanted for anything, learned to revel in the luxury and comforts of true wealth.

Sometimes he wondered if he deserved it. He had wanted so much to share in the quest to regain their homeland -- he had been first to arrive, packed and ready, at the gates on the day of Thorin's Company's departure. Dwalin had all but tucked him under one arm and carried him home to his mother, and Gimli had told Gloin a rather sullen goodbye. Fili and Kili had not been so much older, and Gimli had loved them both well. He knew they had given their lives at the Battle of Five Armies, but their loss never seemed quite real to him; it was as if they had set out on the adventure and simply continued on ahead. But when Gimli mentioned the princes, his busy, cheerful father's face grew sad, and his fingers clenched together in the rich furs that edged his clothes. 

"Give your gold with an open hand," said Gloin to his son, "and it will come back to you richer with its experience. But keep those you love close," and his fingers reached for Gimli's own, "because they only dim with distance, and you will miss them when they're gone."


End file.
